


Magician's Tricks

by hawkflyer667



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur's a prat, Implied Merthur, M/M, Modern AU, Pre-fluff, magic show, merlin's a magician and arthur doesn't like magic, merlin's a sassy bastard, who also flirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkflyer667/pseuds/hawkflyer667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's a working class Uni student whose forced to pick up odd jobs on the side. Arthur's the son of a wealthy businessman with a small three-year old daughter. When the three-year old decides she wants to go see Merlin's magic show, sparks start to fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magician's Tricks

Merlin drummed his fingers along the edge of the plastic arm rest behind him, fidgeting in his seat and staring desperately at the board behind him that flipped through station numbers. It didn’t quite seem to matter to anyone else that he could potentially lose at least a hundred pounds if the sign didn’t change in the next five minutes.

His phone beeped again quietly, buzzing a happy dance against his leg. An alarm. His alarm that should have rang when he was supposed to be getting ready for the show. He was late. Dead late. So late that he could very easily be sacked. Shit.

The train wasn’t going any faster and again he questioned why in the world he had signed up for this job in the first place. Magic was a hobby when he was a kid, that’s it. Ever since that stupid magic show he saw in his local library when he was eight. That didn’t mean that he was destined to become some great fake magician. As if—he was lucky enough to be hired out by the local summer carnival. But if he got enough recognition here, he had a chance to be hired for more. He just had to awe one or two people.

He’d be lucky to awe anyone if he didn’t even show up. Grumbling, he shifted a few more times until the sign finally pinged to signal it was changing. His stop. He could still make it. Already out of his chair when the train rolled to a final stop, he rode the shockwave (badly) and stumbled out the door, knocking people down in his haste. 

“You’re late, Ambrosius. Your name isn’t going to help you much if those kids start complaining,” a woman in a badge snapped at him as he pushed through the doors to backstage. He just smiled sheepishly. “You better be ready to go, because you’re on in five.”

Merlin’s fingers clenched and unclenched over the frayed leather of his old suitcase, purchased second-hand from an antique shop because he thought it looked the part. Did he feel magical? 

That answer was a resounding no.

Heart thudding, he was taken aback when the woman who had barked at him dropped a pointy stereo-typical black wizard hat on his head. “Gotta look the part, kid. There are at least two hundred little boys and girls out there who want to see a real wizard. Not a kid with goofy ears and two left feet.”

Merlin opened his mouth, offended, but she pushed him forward without a word. Stumbling through the doorway, he emerged onto the bright light of a white, hastily erected stage, families on picnic blankets surrounding him.

“Um… hello….,” he stammered, pulling off the hat to run a hand through his hair, standing on end. Perhaps he should have at least splurged for a cape or something, but this job was supposed to earn him extra money, not steal away what little he had. A band tee, jacket, and skinny jeans didn’t quite seem to cut it. 

The audience was quiet, whispered murmurs flitting through the parents behind rows of children squatting in front of the stage. He cleared his throat, pulling out his fake wand and shooting off a half-smile at the children and parents in the front few rows. 

“Hello!” he repeated, and there were a few murmurs of ‘hello’ back. A decent start. At least three or four people cared about what he had to say. A new record. “My name is Merlin Ambrosius—yes, like the wizard of old.”

A few more murmurs. A few people looked impressed. 

“Unlike many other half-bit show-boys, I’m here to show you some real magic. You game for that?” 

Two kids in the front row glanced at each other and nodded, smiles widening on their faces. A couple started to clap and cheer. 

Shooting a glance out into the audience, Merlin pretended to pout. “I can see you’ll be a tough crowd. Normally just promises of magic’ll be enough to get you cheering, but no. No, you’re a crowd of skeptics and you want to see the real stuff. Sadly, the only magic some of you’ll be interested in is something that’ll make your taxes disappear. Sorry, folks! I’m still working on that one.”

A bark of laughter came from the parents in the crowd and some of Merlin’s nerves evaporated. He may have never been an entertainer, but he was certain he could at least convince the children in the audience that he was doing real magic. Especially since he had studied magic as a hobby since he was a kid.

Grabbing three balls, he launched into juggling them, explaining the trick as he went. They looped around his head in a rainbow fantasy—until one disappeared. A few children gasped, pointing and laughing. “It’s in your hand!” a tiny kid shouted, pointing at him.

Merlin pretended to look scandalized. “Young lady!” he blustered, grabbing at his heart as if offended, “do you accuse me of _cheating?_ ” 

The child, a blond in hapless pigtails, pouted, lips full and red. Merlin tried to focus on her, but his gaze slipped to her father, an even more golden-blond who had put his hand on her shoulder with a wild grin, as if approving.

“Yes, sir, I do,” she said shrilly. He grinned, smug, for when he opened his hand for inspection, all the little colored balls were gone, not just the one. They had slipped into small secret compartments on his jacket, but no one else needed to know that. 

The young girl just gaped at him, and her father frowned. One of those parents who disapproved of magic, Merlin supposed, shrugging and shooting the man a playful, blustering grin. “I promise you, they’re not in my hands. I suppose you want to come up and check me? I could be hiding them _anywhere_ , but I assure you, even the most detailed search wouldn’t find you anything suspicious.”

The joke went straight over the children’s heads, as he knew it would, but looks and slight sniggers were exchanged through the audience at the slightly bawdy humor. Was he flirting with the golden man? That would get him kicked out, even if he was careful about it. Smiling, he made the balls reappear as quickly as they left, and continued juggling to a wild cheer from the crowd. He winked, pocketing them extravagantly to a burst of applause from the people gathered.

Good. 

A few more tricks and he realized something bad. He didn’t have an assistant for the chain trick. It was incredibly simple—in theory he would pick anyone from the audience and have them inspect some manacles he had purchased. When deemed completely realistic and completely unbreakable, he’d have the person lock him up.

In thirty seconds or under, he’d have himself free. He could free himself instantly—all he needed to do was pull on a fake link which sprung the lock from the inside—but spent at least fifteen seconds of audience’s counting struggling and sweating before bursting out to a thunderous burst of applause.

In theory. He had the trick itself down, practicing with people in his flat or his mum, but he had never done it in front of an audience before. Who would he choose?

Even when he questioned it, he knew his choice. The man who had been so skeptical earlier. The one who, more than anyone, needed a healthy dose of magic. A healthy dose of fantasy and a little bit of faith.

“For this humble trick I’m going to need an audience volunteer. A parent, actually—they gotta be strong enough to tell me that these cuffs are, in fact, the genuine article.” He pulled the chains from his pocket and knocked them a few times against his precarious table, hearing the clang of metal on metal and knowing most anyone would be satisfied by their authenticity. 

A few people raised their hands, some more eager than others. One young woman—early twenties, looked to be toting around a tot about two—was waving her hand as if a little bee was chasing her around. He glanced at her, scratching his chin – shit, he was stubbly, forgotten to shave—before allowing his gaze to fall on what looked like the most reluctant of the crowd. 

“Ah, yes!” he grinned wickedly, eyes lighting up in his face and using the lighting to his advantage. A great many people said that his cheekbones made his face look mysterious and maybe lent his commands a bit more weight. “Mr. Skeptic. Why don’t you come up here and debunk my trick? I’m sure you’re dying for the opportunity to lock me up.”

Another (completely involuntary) wink. What was wrong with him today? There was something in the golden man’s expression that made him so fun to mess with. The man in question pulled a face, exchanging a glance with his daughter, but she was completely entranced. Any spell her father put on her—metaphorically speaking, of course, this man was as anti-magic as a soul could get—was completely broken. She was enraptured.

The man let out a huff of disappointment, biting on his lip for a moment before rising fluidly to his feet to a small smattering of applause, a good portion of it coming from his daughter. He stalked over to the stage, climbing the few metal steps before coming up next to Merlin. “Yes?” he grumbled.

“My brand new assistant!” he beamed, bowing low and even removing his cap in an elaborate swoop that he wasn’t sure looked rakish or just idiotic. He was blatantly flirting now, unable to stop himself. There was just some aura about the frowning addition to his stage that was incredibly fun to tease, like how people poked at dangerous snakes with sticks. “Would you please grace me and the audience below with your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Arthur!” Merlin burst out a split second later, tasting the name in his mouth and rolling it around a few times. “Well, I was hoping for something a bit more magical, like, say, _Harry_ \--” a few murmured chuckles – “but Arthur’ll have to do.”

Arthur scowled. 

“Now, I need you to take these handcuffs--”

“Why…?”

“Let me finish!” he snapped softly so only the man on-stage could hear him. “I need you to take these chains, like I said earlier, to check for authenticity. Pull them, stretch ‘em, stomp on them. Put all of those muscles to the test.” Arthur’s blue eyes flashed slightly in anger and Merlin just smirked.

“Let me find your trick, show-off,” he hissed under his breath, but Merlin just continued to smile, handing over the handcuffs and working the audience with cheers and hisses. Arthur ran his fingers through the chains but he was a business man, not a police officer. He hadn’t a clue what they were actually supposed to feel or even look like. When poking and prodding and pulling didn’t enact any sort of reaction at all, he handed them back to Merlin with a smothered glare. 

“Prepare to be amazed, then, as I can release myself from these cuffs in under thirty seconds.”

Arthur paused. “Utterly impossible. I know people can release themselves after a while, but—“

“Hey!” Merlin cut him off, waving his hand and with the lithe moment somehow for a moment striking Arthur dumb. People in the audience muttered and hissed for a moment and the skeptic paused, frowning before glancing over to his daughter who shot him a look, annoyed. “Let’s find out, shall we? Now, who wants to see me prove my mettle as a sorcerer?”

The small crowd made themselves very well-known with sharp cheers. Arthur’s own little daughter lent her voice to the crowd, making her father scowl.

“Good!” Merlin barked, turning to Arthur. “Chain me up.” If his voice was a bit more seductive than normal, neither of the two men mentioned it, nor if Arthur was a bit more violent than he needed to be when wrenching Merlin’s slender wrists behind his back. “You’re nothing but a child,” Arthur hissed in his ear, pulling his hands behind his back. “What are you, a kid playing at a showman?”

Merlin sent him off the stage with a wink and a grin, straightening and cracking his neck. “This’ll be my last trick, everyone,” he said, arrogance leaking out of every pore, eyes shining with hidden pleasure. The crowd seemed to love him, letting out a burst of noise. “Please, if you’d do me the favor of counting down from thirty—or ten repeated three times for the wee ones—on my signal...” 

A flash of a smile.

Instantly, as the men in the back were programmed to do, the lights all went off except for one directly on him. “Now!”

“Thirty!”

“Twenty-nine!”

“Twenty-eight!”

Merlin struggled falsely, feeling the tension start to rise, shaking and snapping his shoulders around to try to get his hands in the correct position to spring the lock. Soon he felt the trigger—just a small bite of a blemish on the metal—under his thumb. 

“Twenty-three!”

“Twenty-two!”

“Twenty-one!”

“Twenty!” 

He pretended to get more panicked, glancing over at Arthur and seeing his face plastered with a smug smile. Suddenly a burst of rage erupted in his stomach. Why even go to a magic show if you were just out to debunk it? Thumbing the chain, he raised it above his head, even with four seconds to spare before he usually removed it. 

The trick went off without a hitch and he was safe. “Thank you very much!” he called, waving the handcuffs around in his hands and mentally saving a picture of Arthur’s amazed expression in the back of his mind for all time, watching someone sneak a picture of it on their mobile.

He couldn’t help but pray it would end up on his Facebook page.

“I don’t want to do this to you lovely folks, but if you enjoyed the show and could spare a dime or two, that’d be great—a hungry guy needs to earn money somehow, even if it is by doing magic. If you can’t, I don’t mind, all I’m asking is that you tell your friends or like me on Facebook. Thanks.”

A final cheer erupted from the crowd, mainly from the kids in front but a bunch of parents as well. He placed his goofy wizard’s hat on the edge of the stage and swung his feet over, kicking them merrily and grinning at the kids as they shyly put money in his cap and then skittered away, giggling. One had the audacity to poke at his leg and then run away, screaming shrilly that she touched ‘the magic man!’. 

Arthur was the last to come up, and frankly Merlin was surprised to see him at all. He sheepishly ran a hand through his hair again, as most of the others had gone and he could drop most of his magical persona, as Arthur’s tiny one was asleep on his shoulder.

“Here,” the man said tersely, dropping what Merlin could almost fool himself into thinking was a twenty into his bag.

“I could have sworn you’d run out of here, golden man,” he replied with a small grin, still poking fun. Arthur rolled his eyes and poked him in the chest. “It’s not that I don’t like magic, you nimwit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like people who exploit and cheat gullible audiences to make a living. I’m giving to you because I understand a scrawny kid like you needs to eat--” Merlin scowled—“but I’m telling you. My father’s in charge of most of the businesses in the area. If I find out you’re scamming people for cheap tricks, I _will_ shut you down.”

Merlin couldn’t help but pale. “I wouldn’t do that. Ever. God damn it—who are you to judge me?” The arrogance was gone, replaced by thinly veiled anger.

“I’m not judging. I’m warning. I’ll see you soon, I expect.”

“What?”

“I’m heavily involved in my Father’s business,” Arthur said, looking over his shoulder from where he was trailing away. “Sometimes that includes business parties, and we’re always looking for… entertainment. If you could add a bit more… _adult_ repertoire to your gig, we could use you. If not, I’m sure I could put you with the kids. Thanks for the show.”

Hefting his daughter on the other hip, Arthur strode off, having had the last word. Merlin watched him go, mute, feeling a strange new desire awake in his stomach.

He’d have to get studying.

**Author's Note:**

> This is completed for now, however, if you would like to see any more I have some ideas bubbling around about their budding relationship. Please let me know! :)


End file.
